Revelations
by Divinely Ethereal
Summary: A teenage Kazuya Mishima is beaten by his father and locked up in the attic. But in this dark and forgotten part of the Mishima Mansion, Kazuya makes certain discoveries.....
1. Chapter 1

**Revelations**

_**A/N: No, I don't own it yet. And here is another two-shot I just had to go and write. **_

_**And check out my profile, because I made an important statement I think you people have the right to see.**_

He lay there, his cheek pressed up against the hard wooden floor, enduring the stifling heat, the clogging dust, and the nauseating sense of decay.

The pain had largely subsided, reduced to short, irregular stabs, but he could still feel the droplets of blood oozing down his back, could envision the angry, red welts that now defiled his young flesh, the products of the callused hand that had borne the indiscriminating instrument of punishment so cruelly and effectively.

A simple switching, that was what his hateful father called stripping his eldest son and whipping him like a slave, then discarding him into this dusty old hole, like so much vile trash. He somehow found the strength to rise to his feet, all the while swearing revenge for this humility, and that foreign consciousness, ever-present with him, roared its approval for his strong resolve.

Kazuya glanced around. The dark attic room in which he was being held prisoner was quite small in proportion to the rest of the house. In fact, it looked to be smaller than his own bedroom, but it held more than five times its contents, ranging from broken and obsolete pieces of furniture, to ruined old paintings and antiques. There was very little to marvel at, except perhaps a dollhouse modelled after the Imperial Palace, which was exquisitely carved out of cherrywood, and contained several porcelein dolls, which were mercifully intact.

Kazuya's attention was soon diverted by a large iron chest that sat with its lid half-open. He crouched down before it and rummaged through its contents, extracting several books and even some photograph albums. He turned to those latter ones, and his heart began to hammer madly in his chest.

Staring at him from the faded old photographs was a dark-haired girl, laughter sparkling from her large, almond-shaped eyes, a smile gracing her delicately hewn features. Everything about the face was strangely familiar to him; the eyes, the lips and the high cheekbones all mirrored his own. It was a face he had yearned to behold for the past fifteen years.

_Mother?_

He went through the remaining pictures with trembling hands. There she was, sitting on a swing, being pushed by a man whom Kazuya took to be her father. And there too, with a couple of giggling girlfriends, adorned in a colourful kimono and positively radiating with happiness. And again, this time standing between his late grandfather, Jinpachi Mishima, and his best friend, Wang Jinrei. But try as he might, Kazuya could not locate a picture of his mother in Heihachi's company, and he noticed, as he flipped through more pictures, how the laughter seemed to gradually fade from his mother's eyes, how her smile became as enigmatic as the Mona Lisa's, and seemed equally forced.

Kazuya turned to a red, leather-bound book he had pulled out with the photographs, and his heart practically burst with excitement as he read the words etched on its front.

_This journal is the property of Lady Kazumi Shirakawa_

He took note of his mother's maiden name, crossed his legs on the dusty floor, and turned to the first page, ready to delve into his mother's world, and perhaps glean the truth about her relationship with his father.

_**A/N: That's enough for the time being. I hope you like it. Please tell me what you think so far. **_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

_**A/N: well I'm back from the dead(the finals actually), and ready to roll with some updates.**_

_**Now, due to popular demand, this fic will no longer be confined to a two-shot, and I will**_

_**attempt to make it as detailed and enjoyable as I can. But please, do honour me with your **_

_**reviews, okay? Oh, I still don't own Tekken in case you're wondering.**_

Lady Kazumi Shirakawa Mishima's first diary entry dated back to the summer of her twelfth year. Kazuya read it, absorbing each and every character written in his mother's neat lacy script.

_Dear Diary_

_Such a glorious summer day! A waste to have to spend it doing monotonous indoor chores, I thought to myself, and then on the spur of the moment, I decided to break free! I discreetly slipped out of the house, gently easing the __**shoji**__ doors shut behind me. All the while I could hear poor Mrs Takano, our housekeeper, complaining to Father about her bad hay fever, and neither of them noticed my escape. Outside, I slipped on my thong slippers , and then remembering Father's warning that it was foolish to leave one's house without the __**Kami**__'s blessings, I said a quick prayer at our small family shrine, and then I was racing for the water front!_

_The water front. A place I can never get enough of. Giddy with freedom, I kicked off my sandals and flung myself down on the sun-baked ground, dipping my toes into the water, savouring the coolness and the gentle breeze and the crystalline sparkle of the sun's rays on the water's surface. I tilted my head sideways to meet the sight of people sedately milling about their business. I saw boys my age running about, chasing each other and laughing, and I thought of joining them, but then the seagulls came swooping low on the eastern horizon, and greeted me with their morning call. I was on my feet in a flash, cupping my hands around my mouth and emitting a low, piercing cry, in imitation of their fearsome call. Several people stopped and stared, but I just smiled and bowed. Oh it was so good to be alive!_

_But of course, dear diary, this was not meant to last. It was my __**Karma**__ that my momentary happiness be ruined. A particularly loud gale of laughter forced me to look around, and I saw a group of boys huddled around something invisible, and I went for a closer look, and was shocked to see them all surrounding a small, ancient looking turtle, poking it sharply with sticks and laughing as the poor creature lay helplessly kicking on its back. Oh,__**Kami**__, I thought, how absolutely callous!_

_At length I spoke to them, and politely asked that they let the poor thing off, but boys being as disgustingly arrogant as they are, they just scoffed at me. Then I did what was unthinkable for a girl to do: challenged their leader to a fight. More laughter. One of them said I should go back to my porcelein dolls. I insisted, then waited. The decision was made._

_They took me back to their own secluded "corner". It always annoys me to see that boys in Kyoto have their own corners and fields, have the run of the streets, while girls are expected to sit at home, polite and obedient._

_Arm wrestling. That was their challenge. I smiled inwardly. Oh, those boys are so arrogant! They think girls lack strength! But they forget: I've been taught by a master, the son of a master. We sat down on stools, the boy and I, and a wooden crate was placed between us. We rested our elbows on its surface, and when the signal came, we instantly locked hands. _

_I let him have his way for a while, knowing this was a girl's best strategy: to lull the opponent into a false sense of security. I never broke eye contact, and then when I saw from his self-satisfied smirk that I had him where I wanted, I turned the tables. Lo, and behold, the kitten became a tigress! Oh, the expressions on their faces were priceless!_

_But Father was less than pleased with my little adventure. When I came home, he lectured me for half an hour about the "freedom" and "privileges" that I've been given, and that other girls have been denied. He then sent me to my room , where I am right now, to "await further punishment". But I know he won't make good on his threat. Father's never beaten me, and he never will. And even if he does this time, dear diary, what a small price to pay for the fun I've had today!_

XXXXXXX

Kazuya firmly shut the journal, his incredulety threatening to overwhelm him. _ What did you expect,_ he asked himself. _ Not this._ In all the years since he had started to think consciously, the mention of his late mother had brought about the image of a fragile, subservient woman, eager to please her tyrant of a husband, his father. Certainly not a wild, headstrong girl, vying for independence. The faded old photographs he had seen had captured her innocence, belying her inner strength.

He suddenly smiled. He could easily detect slivers of his own personality in his mother's character. Her toughness, determination, quiet calculation and manipulation, qualities he had always associated with being born a Mishima. But no, he had inherited them from his mother, and that knowledge greatly relieved him.

He could also see that she had been a well-loved child, pampered to some degree, and accustomed to having her own way. Add that to her fire and vitality, and he was filled with wonder as to how she ended up with his father.

_Heihachi would have hated her._

And so he read on, attempting to quench his thirst for secrets from a hidden past.

XXXXXXX

_**A/N: You all saw the similarity between Kazumi and Asuka, right? That was deliberate, supporting the possible theory that Asuka could in fact be Jin's sister, and therefore related to Kazumi. All speculation of course. I really am enjoying this though. So please be kind enough to complete my day with your nice little reviews. **_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

_**A/N: I don't think I'll ever own Tekken.**_

_**Thanks for the support so far, guys!**_

Kazuya took a deep steadying breath, then turned to the next diary entry, made three days after the first.

_Dear Diary_

_He's here! Yes, diary, __**him**__! My very own darling brother Kazuki, six years older than me and a lifetime wiser than I'll ever be. Finally! Only the __**Kami**__ know how much I've missed him since he'd taken off to pursue his education some six months ago, without so much as a goodbye to me. And he hadn't even bothered to write decent letters while he was away; just sent me his trademark __**Origami**__ cranes; you know, diary, the curious little paper birds he used to make for me after Mother left us, when I'd still been very young. Only, these recent ones have curious little poems in their folds, and I can't even begin to understand them. But__** Nee-nee**__'s here now, and I suppose that's what matters most._

_As you would expect, dear diary, I was my brother's welcoming committee when he came back at last. I perched on top of the sturdiest branch I could find and watched as he walked up the cobbled path leading to our house. I took note of his tall, compact frame, his healthy tan and his strong features. His jet-black hair was slightly longer than before, but it still stuck out at the back in an odd way resembling a duck's tail, and it reminded me of his __**Origami **__ birds. And that curious V-shaped point of hair crowning his forehead(I believe it's called a 'widow's peak'), was still there, giving his face its distinct, heart-shaped appearance._

_He soon felt my eyes on him and looked up with a broad grin that countered my heavy scowl."__**Ohayo**__, Kazumi-__**chan**__!" he called out in his deep, reassuring voice._

_I pulled a face." __**Ohayo**__ yourself, sneaking off like a common thief,__** Nee-nee**__!"_

_A sly smile crept up his face." The way I remember it, you were too busy wallowing in the mud with boys twice your size to say goodbye to me, you little imp!"_

_Oh, can you believe that he actually said that, diary?_

_"For your information," I retorted," Those boys were insulting our family name, but by the time I was done with them, they couldn't take two steps in any direction!" A mild exaggeration, diary, but not far from the truth. To add emphasis to my words, I punched the air menacingly, but this move cost me my balance, and I fell and landed on my behind._

_As much as I hate to admit it, diary, it really wasn't the first time I've managed to embarrass myself in front of my older brother, who let out a short, barklike laugh, then dropped his knapsack and rushed to help me recover my lost dignity, easing me to my feet and frowning as he looked me up and down._

_I know what he was thinking then, diary. To him, I looked just like any one of those grimy-faced boys you see running around __**Kyoto**__, with my soiled vest, tattered pants and worn slippers, as well as my hair that hung stiffly down the nape of my neck._

_"Why, you've grown just a little notch taller," Smart-mouthed Kazuki remarked." And you've cut your hair, I see. And you sneaked into the __**dojo**__ again, didn't you?"_

_Tell me one thing, diary, how is it that he always seems to be so well-informed?!_

_"You wouldn't tell Father, would you, __**Nee-nee**__?" I pouted." And can we go swimming later today, please?" I ventured hopefully._

_Now, I wasn't just trying to change the subject, diary. I really do miss the times when Kazuki and his friends would go swimming, taking me along, despite the fact that they were mostly idiots who teased me, calling me things like __**"hiyoko"**__, and forcing me to chase after them._

_Kazuki just shook his head." I need to train with Father; I've been away too long."_

_What a spoilsport, dear diary! As if he needs more training! He's quite skilled in __** Karate**__**Judo**__**Kendo**__ and practically every disciplinary art I can think of, which is really quite odd, now that I come to think about it, seeing as he's artistic and as far removed from violence as possible. I've seen his art sketches and calligraphy. They make mine look like poor scribbles done by a monkey with a brush. Yes, diary, he is __**that **__ talented. If it's not Kazuki's ambition to become a world-renowned artist, then I don't know what is._

_But I digress. Soon after he made that disappointing statement, he added as an afterthought," and speaking of Father, I shan't let him see you in this dirty-faced state." And without further ado, he seized me beneath the armpits, half-lifted and half-dragged me over to our __**Koi**__ fish pond, and forcefully submerged my head in the cool water._

_"__**Nee-nee**__, you jerk, that's so cold!" I gasped when he allowed me to resurface._

_"And clean too," he said." You remember what clean's like, don't you, Kazumi-__**chan**__?"_

_Now that was totally uncalled for, wouldn't you say, diary?_

_After that, I was really determined to ruin the rest of his day, so when evening came, I went uninvited into his room and began to demonstrate my gymnastic abilities, starting off with a few cartwheels. He didn't pay me any attention; just lay there on his stomach, on the futon, staring off into space. I then did a handstand and had a great upside-down view of his dreamy expression. It really was queer, the way he was looking. And then I fell into a heap on the floor, as it all clicked into place in my mind._

_"Oooooh!" I suddenly squealed.Really, diary, how could I've been so stupid, when it was clear as daylight? I then stood up and began doing a sort of rain-dance around my brother, chanting,"__** Nee-nee**__'s in love,__**Nee-nee**__'s in luuuuuve!"_

_He soon snapped out of his daze." I'm not!"_

_"Of course!" I giggled."Who's the lucky girl?" At which point he lost all patience and shooed me out of his room._

_Now I'm back in my own room, diary, telling you all about my day, and frankly, I couldn't wait to get to this part. Poor __**Nee-Nee**__! Always so sombre and grim! Whoever she is, I hope she can make him happy, otherwise she'll have to answer to me! As for me, diary, well I've yet to meet someone who can earn even half my respect._

XXXXXXX

Kazuya's mind was in a state of turmoil; he might as well have been reading the diary of a total stranger. BROTHER?! He stared, shell-shocked, at the characters for the word "**Nee-nee**", that mocked him from the yellowing pages. He felt faint, nauseated, horrified even,but most of all he felt maddened at his own stupidity. He had swallowed all those lies his father had thrown at him regarding his mother and her family, and he had not bothered to ask questions, only to discover, after wallowing in ignorance for the past fifteen years, that he had in fact had an uncle. _ Just like that..._

And what did this mysterious uncle look like? Why, a carbon-capy of his nephew, it would seem, what with the reference to the widow's peak and the 'hair that stuck out at the back in an odd way', though he resented the duck's tail reference.

What became of Kazuki Shirakawa?Did Heihachi obliterate all evidence to his existence?

Kazuya ransacked the iron chest for answers. He turned its contents upside down, until, in the bottom-most layer, he found a single photo and a wrinkled **Origami ** bird. The photograph showed his mother with another person, but it was impossible to tell who that was, because the left side of the photo was completely ripped off. The paper bird told him enough, though. He unfolded it with trembling fingers and read the poem within:

_" Like dew I was born_

_Like dew I vanish_

_Everything I have ever done_

_Is but a dream_

_Within a dream..."_

And then he realised with an awful certainty, that this man, his uncle, had been doomed to an untimely end, doomed just like his mother, doomed just like anyone and everyone associated with the Mishima scourge.

And so he read on, his heart heavy...

XXXXXXX

_**A/N:That's it for now. I hope you liked it. Up next, Heihachi rears his ugly head... not looking forward to the prospect...**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

_**A/N: Hey, all. Sorry for the long absence; I've had a busy summer so far. And, gosh, has it been one year since i'd updated this?!! Damn, I fail, especially since i've had the whole chapter mapped out in my head to begin with... Alright, so i'm bringing you the 4th installment of Revelations.**_

_**( Alittle side-note on the story's timeline: It's all been set so far sometime before World War II. Yeah, I know, it sounds wrong, but for some reason i can't seem to look at Heihachi and not imagine him to have lived through that period.)**_

_**Expect an update of An Alternate Life soon, like next week-soon.**_

_**Now i'm off to sleep(it's quite late), and from tomorrow, i'll start catching up on the fanfics i missed.**_

Kazuya sighed, his frustration mounting, as he continued to flip through the yellowed pages that were the gateway to his mother's secret little world. The shock that arrived with the revelation about his uncle had long since dissipated, and he was left with nothing but an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach and a sour taste in his mouth, for the journal entries that followed all seemed terribly anticlimactic in comparison: Pages upon pages recounting how young Kazumi had skipped dance school, or sneaked into some training dojo or Mahjong parlour( those feats appeared to be current favourites), and a recurring tendency to overdramatize events, and, very much like a pendulum, to oscillate from one extreme emotion to another, plagued her narrative.

It was extravagant, all that.

And it was childish.

And it was beginning to grate on his nerves.

But worst of all, it was revealing nothing about what his soul burned to know: The intiguing dynamics of his parents' relationship and the circumstances behind it.

One thing, however, was growing increasingly clear: His initial suspicion that Heihachi might have loathed his mother might very well be solidified into fact in an upcoming entry, and that thought saddened him a great deal.

For a moment he simply stared listlessly at the entry before him, sorely tempted to skip a few pages, but then its heading seemed to burst out of the pages to greet him, jarring his very soul:

_Honmaru, Fall_

A chill that was preternatural in nature ran down his spine at the mention of the estate, nestled deep in the mountains of Japan, that his father owned, an estate housing a temple of the same name, a temple where, he would bet the remains of his maimed soul, his beloved grandfather Jinpachi had met with foul play, at the hands of none other than his own son, almost a decade ago....

XXXXXXX

_Dear Diary_

_A great deal has happened since I last wrote, so much that I myself feel quite altered, even though it hasn't been more than... what? Three months? Now, I'm not at all in a generous writing mood, but it's important for me to outline to you what this life-changing expreience I'm going through is all about. Important to my current state of mind. Yes. And after all, who could ever provide me with a more willing audience than you could, dear diary?_

_Well, it all began around the time I stopped confiding in you, when a certain invitation was sent to Father. Apparently, Mishima Jinpachi-sama, the head of the wealthy and influential(but only in the __**Kanto**__ region) clan, to whom we are very distantly related, wanted us to undertake a journey to join him and his family, for a stretch of time, at their remote estate in the mountains, and would we please accept the humble gifts that had been sent along?_

'_Humble' was a questionable term, diary. To dear __**Nee-nee **__ they'd sent the finest coloured pigments; the best quality paints and oils, all too aware of his passions, it seemed. And to me, the most exquisitely crafted dollhouse, complete with a set of porcelain dolls. Even I, who has never shown interest in such rich, girlish trappings, could not help tracing my fingers along the smooth, lacquered wooden roof, or turning the dolls again and again in my hands. Oh, but it so mystified me, receiving such generous presents from someone I'd never met! (I wonder whether __**Nee-nee **__ felt the same way....) And so I resolved to look upon the faces of our benefactors._

_Well, I got my wish, didn't I, diary? When we arrived at the train depot, we were greeted by Mishima-sama himself. Now, a taller, more muscular man I have yet to see in my life; He towered over everyone in the vicinity! His face was prematurely lined, his hair and beard streaked with grey, but, oh, his eyes twinkled in such curious manner! And he was so amiable and talkative, as he gave his personal driver instructions to drive us this way and that, manoeuvring across treacherous stretches of wooded, mountainous paths, and boasted to us, with a quiet touch of pride, of his ancestral lands. And best of all, he did not once ignore me, as so many of Father's friends and acquaintances did, but sought to involve me in the conversation, asking what I thought of each piece of breathtaking scenery we passed. I liked him immensely!_

_With his permission, I rolled down my window and was instantly buffeted by the cool breeze. I inhaled lungfuls of the fresh, crisp air that carried the faint scent of herbs, as I watched the mountains- sentinels they seemed to me, impregnable fortresses- roll past us, locked at their waists in an eternal embrace with the teeming vegetation of the forests. I then turned to Mishima-sama and loudly prattled to him about Kyoto, how different it is, and how I love the infusion of old and new that make up its length and breadth- from the market streets bustling with activity, where school children run freely and the occasional animal canters, and how they reek of smoky woods, food and other wares; the **Sakura** trees that line the avenues in spring; the neat, low-ceilinged houses, a flimsy combination of wood and paper; the radios that sound their quiet chatter from inside them every single morning; the carts that young people pull along the streets, overflowing with statues, puppets, lanterns, kimonos , masks and all the trappings common to our festivals; the sleek, wondrous Western automobiles that drive up and down the richer areas, and the businessmen, decked out in crisp Western suits, as they walk hand-in-hand with the **Geishas**, milling in and out of elegant little teahouses. I was out of breath when I was done. Father looked faintly disapproving, **Nee-nee **amused, but I rather thought Mishima-sama was genuinely impressed._

_It was mid-afternoon when we reached the Mishima estate. During the ride, Mishima-sama had remarked to us that the day had marked his only son's fifteenth birthday. The way he'd said it held some significance, as if he'd wanted **me **in particular to take note of it. And now, as I stood in the garden admiring the Mishimas' **koi **pond, a boy stepped out of the house( which seemed nothing more or less than a vast replica of the homes in Kyoto) to meet us, as if lured out by our very presence._

" _Hei-chan!" Mishima-sama called genially. He turned to Father. " Kenji-kun, this is my son, Heihachi. Hei-chan, this is the esteemed Shirakawa-san, his son, Kazuki-san, and the delightful Kazumi-san."_

_I stared long and hard at this new arrival, gauging him. He took after his father, that was clear: Tall for his age and well-built. He wore a sombre, iron-grey **kimono**, and his dark hair was cropped short. Oh, but his eyes! Hawk-like in their intensity, fox-like in their cunning! They defined the rest of his face, those fierce eyes. I tore my own eyes from their pull long enough to observe the rest of him. He had a rather heavy jaw, and his mouth seemed to be perpetually poised downwards, caught somewhere between a frown and a grimace. Such striking features! Not handsome, the way **Nee-nee** was handsome, but fascinating all the same._

_I watched as he bowed once, quite stiffly, to his father, and then again in our general direction. His calculating eyes swept over Father, lingered on **Nee-nee**, and passed me by with not the slightest bit of interest._

_I must confess, diary ,that I felt quite offended. I did not like being ignored by individuals I deem interesting, and this Heihachi Mishima certainly seemed interesting!_

_But other guests seemed to be arriving, in honour of the occasion, and then Mishima-sama finally decided that it was time to unveil the 'special gift' he had procured for his son. _

_Out of the nearby stables came two servants, wrestling with the reins of a magnificent silver gelding. I think I struggled to keep my jaw from dropping to the floor-never had I seen something so exquisite given away as a birthday present. And I certainly struggled to hold my envy in check. _

_But I was also quite keen on registering Mishima Heihachi's reaction. I studied his face, and to my shock, there was nothing. No pleased smile. No words spoken in gratitude. Just a faint gleam of triumph in his eyes that told me that he had gotten what he wanted, and no more and no less. I continued to watch as he slowly walked to the restless animal, lightly stroked it, calming it, mounted it and set off at a slow trot. He then abruptly broke into a sprint, covering a distance of perhaps two hundred yards, before racing back towards us at break-neck speed. When the demonstration was over, he slowly dismounted, faced his father and nodded in acknowledgement of his gratitude. Then he handed the reins back to the servants and walked back into the house._

_Stoic. Far too stoic._

_Far too interesting, too, diary, you have to admit!_

_When all the other guests had arrived, we sat down for the evening meal in one of the spacious, **tatami- **lined rooms that seemed to litter the house. The **sake **cups were passed around, and that seemed to loosen people's tongues, and the topics of conversation kept shifting and changing faster than the **sake **was being drained- politics, the economy, philosophy, mainstream art- matters I didn't understand and didn't care to. I sat stiff and composed, between Father and **Nee-nee**. To keep from yawning was a chore. It all eventually went back to politics. The men gathered exchanged genuinely worried looks. There was talk of foreign dignitaries in Tokyo; talk of how the Americans were interfering too much in the Pacific, denying us rightful military expansion in that region. There were whispers of an impending war. All that intrigue meant nothing to me; what I wanted to know was what those ambassadors in Tokyo-and the Americans as well- looked like, how they dressed, talked, moved and what our islands in the Pacific looked like and such and such. To me that was infinitely more interesting. And Mishima-sama answered all my questions with an ever-ready indulgent smile. _

_But it was his son who shone._

_Incredibly, the stoic one rose to claim centre stage( and it was not due to the **sake**!). No topic did he leave unexplored, as he argued back and forth on all fronts, and battled against all parties, his voice growing more and more impassioned. But would the militaristic rule in Japan hold out in the event of a long term war against America? **Why, yes, it certainly would**. But Japan has precious little in terms of resources for a war! **Why did you think we went after the Pacific isles in the first place? **But look at all those unnatural philosophies that permeate the modern world!** We must look to Bushido** **for answers.** His voice had a deep resonance to it, and it had me thinking of those reclusive monks who spend their lives chanting their prayers up in the mountains. His voice would have complimented their hymns beautifully! _

_I continued to listen in awe, and it finally hit me that no boy his age talked or acted that way-they all pulled pranks and played truants to school- that not even **Nee-nee**, himself far removed from the fickleness and worldliness that governed his peers, was a match to this; that I was sitting in the presence of a **man**- and that thought, diary, it was enough to send shivers of excitement down my spine! But something else filled me with confusion; how, whenever he'd fall silent and cease to be the centre of attention, he'd take to staring at his father, with a disdainful, albeit very subtle, look on his face._

_Later that evening, when all conversation had been exhausted, the men decided to play a game or two of **Mahjong.** Several games started simultaneously, and at first, I watched and quietly rooted for Father and **Nee-nee.** But, oh, **Nee-nee **was no gambler, and Father was always down on the luck side! And only **Nee-nee **was aware of my exploits at the **Mahjong **parlours in Kyoto. And they were playing against the Mishima father and son!_

_I nudged **Nee-nee,** who had an expression of consternation on his face(apparently he thought he was losing), and he allowed me access to his tiles._

" _Oh, **Nee-nee**, you **baka**!" I berated in spite of myself, " Why are you wasting such a good hand!?" Poor **Nee-nee **was so clueless, sometimes! As it was his turn, I carefully selected a tile to be discarded and picked another off the table. And, as my good luck would have it, my hand was now complete. I triumphantly revealed my tiles, thrusting them close to the younger Mishima. _

" _Haand!" I chirped. " Oh,** kami, ** this was easier than playing three drunken **Yakuza** in a smoky **Shimabara** parlour!"_

_This statement was greeted by perfectly horrified silence, even from those engaged in games at the far end of the room. And for good reason. Sneaking into a **Mahjong **parlour and playing against gangsters was one thing, but doing it in **Shimabara**, Kyoto's **red-light district,** was another. It was a hideously unspeakable thing to say, for a girl of my class, never mind do. Oh, **Kami**, how could I have been so caught up in my moment of triumph that I let it slip? I flushed at the smouldering look of rage Father gave me, and at the disappointment etched clearly on ** Nee-nee's **face. _

_I was jolted out of my self-loathing by the sound of laughter. Great peals of loud, metallic laughter, each sound running into the next. _

_Lo, and behold, Mishima Heihachi was **laughing**! Was it what I'd said? It had to be! But why? He hadn't struck me as the sort who'd laugh at vulgar things-quite from it._

_He suddenly shook his head, whispered something to his father, then stood up and left the room, his broad frame still shaking with suppressed mirth._

_That night, before bed, I had to put up with an earful from Father. **Nee-nee** interceded on my behalf, if only to prevent Father from waking up the entire house with his shouts-he felt that I'd deserved it._

_The next morning I was up before anyone else Utterly dejected. I kept thinking of the magnificent silver gelding Mishima Heihachi had been given for his birthday, and for some reason I thought, that if only I could see it again, my spirits would be lifted. I quietly slipped out of the house and sneaked into the stables. To my shock, I wasn't alone._

_Mishima Heihachi was at work saddling his horse. He smirked when he saw me. _

" _Well, well! I hardly know you, and you already seem to be coveting what is mine!" He indicated the horse._

_I scowled at him." I wasn't **coveting** anything but peace and quiet!" I retorted._

_He sneered at me with the impatience of one who is forced to listen to the lies of another. " And why am I even talking to you? You, a little girl with fanciful little notions and idiotic little whims. You, who are ignorant of even the simplest things in this world." He smirked at the hurt look on my face." Need I go on?"_

_I almost crumbled at the violence of his onslaught, but I quickly rallied myself against him. " Why are you being such a hypocrite, when you seemed to take a liking to what I said last night? Clearly you liked my brand of humour, otherwise you wouldn't have laughed like there was no tomorrow!"_

_The strength of my response startled him. His fierce eyes flashed momentarily. " I was simply taken aback. And I do not like it when that happens. I laugh to cover it up. That was all there is to it." He shrugged his massive shoulders. _

_I think I gaped at him. But at least he was being candid, diary. In a way, he reminded me of **Nee-nee**; **Nee-nee **who is always so straight and up-front...._

_He carefully mounted, then looked down at me. " I may be plenty of things, but I'm not unreasonable. I realise Father would have me play the perfect young host to appease you, but I can't, at this rate, do it, when I can't even stomach you. But you needn't change for me. Just hammer a little useful substance into your head. Then, perhaps, I can bear to take you riding with me, show you the lay of the land, take you hunting, even... But until then, I shan't ever exchange any words with you."_

_And he sped off, leaving me standing there with a tiny sliver of hope, a key to a gateway of possibility..._

XXXXXXX

There was more-in fact this entry went on for at least half a dozen more pages- but Kazuya simply slammed the journal shut and flung it away from him in disgust.

So there it was, laid bare before him: The circumstances behind his parents' meeting( he hadn't actually been expecting them to meet so early in life), his dear departed mother's intense fascination with his father, from the word _Go, _and Heihachi's attitude and mentality at that age, that so mirrored his own. Except for the laughter part. Kazuya never laughed. The old man _was_ indeed prone to fits of laughter, as when that imbecile Lee Chaolan had performed that ridiculous dance to surprise him on his fortieth birthday, just to name one example.

He hugged his knees, battling wave after wave of disgust that sought to overwhelm him. Not even the mention of his beloved Jinpachi in a positive light could alleviate his pain. He reflected with great sadness that his mother must have viewed his father as a challenge to win, an obstacle to overcome, and that while doing so, she would be having all the fun in the world.

_Except that this one challenge led to your downfall..._

He sighed.

_Why, Mother? Why?_

XXXXXXX


End file.
